


She Blinded Me With Science

by one_of_those_crushing_scenes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Blood, Clint Has a Type, Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Hawkeye: Freefall, Highly Educated Women, Needles, Overly Cheesy Porn Vibes, Pervy Fluff, Sexual Fantasy, This Is Not the Most Cerebral Thing I've Ever Written, Without the Actual Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/pseuds/one_of_those_crushing_scenes
Summary: Clint doesn't believe he has a type, but his subconscious knows better.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Clint Barton/Karla Sofen, Clint Barton/Linda Carter, Clint Barton/Maryanne Sherbrook
Kudos: 5





	She Blinded Me With Science

"I do not have a type," he'd told Kate earlier over the video chat earlier. They were catching up on each other’s lives after having gone weeks without being able to find the time for a call, and his most recent relationship and breakup had come up.

"Mmm-hmm.” Somehow, even with the crappy resolution, her smirk came through bright and clear. “Women who spent more than twice the amount of time as you in school? Bedroom walls lined with diplomas? Paging Dr. Carter, we’ve got a code...wait, what color is heartbreak?”

Clint snorted and threw a tennis ball half an inch over the top of the screen, causing Lucky to jump to his feet. “Dummy. We weren’t even dating for that long. And I do _not_ have a type.”

—

Oh, God.

He totally has a type.

He knows this is a dream, if only because nothing like this could possibly happen to him in real life, but it’s not one of those lucid dreams, the kind that you can control, so he’s just stuck here watching his subconscious play out whatever this is, and he can only pray that his subconscious is feeling generous tonight.

He’s in a hospital room, lying on his back on a bed. The fluorescent light is buzzing, and there’s a hum of conversation in the hallway, and his ex-wife is standing at the foot of the bed, wearing a lab coat open over a silk pink nightie. Her hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing soft makeup, her lips a shimmering pink to match the lingerie. Completing the look are a pair of pink latex gloves and lab goggles. He’s got a huge tent in his hospital gown.

“What did I tell you, Dr. Morse?”

That’s Linda’s voice. She swoops in and hands Bobbi a clipboard, and Clint’s eyes nearly boggle out of his head. Her hair is down and long, her eye makeup done all smokey like in the movies and her lipstick blood red. She’s wearing green scrubs, but only the shirt, which just barely covers her butt. He can’t look away from her legs.

“This can’t be right,” Bobbi says, looking at the chart. She leans over to read it better, giving him a good look down the low-cut front of her nightie. “Are these projected levels of horniness even humanly possible?”

“That’s why we have to draw a blood sample,” Linda responds matter-of-factly. “But I think the outfits speak for themselves.” She indicates her own half-dressed state and then Bobbi’s clothing. “This may very well be the highest-ever recorded horniness in a human being.”

“Maybe I’ll have to write a paper on it.” Through the lenses of her goggles, Bobbi’s eyes go dreamy in the way that sometimes happens when she’s talking about groundbreaking scientific research.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Linda warns. “We need to get an accurate reading first.” She turns to the supply shelf on the wall and Clint can definitely make out a hint of lacy underwear as she reaches for something. He’s so hard he could burst.

Linda approaches him, and for the first time in this dream, someone speaks to him. “Give me your arm,” she commands in a clipped, no-nonsense voice.

Clint tries to obey, but then he notices that his arms are restrained to the sides of his bed with some sort of velcro straps. “Oops.” He gives her an apologetic smile.

“Oh, for Heaven’s—okay, don’t move.” She puts one hand on his bicep and uses the other to insert a needle into a vein, then quickly and efficiently fills three collecting tubes with his blood. “There we go.”

“Thank you, Dr. Carter,” Bobbi says as Linda hands the tubes off. “I’ll get these down to the lab right away and start my assistants on the analysis.” She looks at Clint and adds, “You know, this could be a huge breakthrough in the field of horniness. Medical students could be reading about you in textbooks for decades.”

Clint laughs nervously, looking between his two gorgeous exes, the haze of lust settling into his brain and setting all of his nerve endings on edge. Linda presses against the inside of his elbow as she pulls the needle out and he almost comes on the spot.

“You’re both wrong,” comes a voice from the other side of the room.

Bobbi moves out of the way to reveal his _other_ doctor ex.

Karla’s sitting in a swivel chair next to a desk, her hair in a neat bun, wearing horn rimmed glasses, a tight blazer, and a skirt so short he can see the garters clipped to her thigh-high stockings. She sits with her legs crossed and holds a notebook and pen.

“You’d like to weigh in, Dr. Sofen?” Bobbi asks.

“You’re both so convinced that his horniness is a simple biochemical matter,” Karla says. She shifts her top leg higher, showing a little more skin. Clint’s mouth goes dry. “But you’re completely ignoring the psychological aspect.”

“Here we go again,” Linda mutters under her breath.

“A patient’s mental state has a huge effect on their body, and to ignore that does a disservice not just to the patient, but to the field of medicine itself,” Karla insists. “You’re both too smart to gloss over that.”

Bobbi clears her throat. “Okay, Dr. Sofen, we’ll take that under—”

“It’s about his mother,” Karla continues.

His erection deflates.

Bobbi and Linda exchange annoyed looks.

“Well, there goes _that_ ménage à quatre,” Bobbi says tightly.

“She’s always ruining everything,” Linda agrees.

“I told you. She’s a supervillain. She always reverts to form.”

Karla smacks the surface of the desk with her notepad. “Don’t think it’ll go away just because you ignore it!”

“Yeah, okay.” Linda shakes her head, then turns to Bobbi. “Why don’t you get those samples down to the lab.”

“Good idea,” Bobbi agrees. She turns to Clint. “You’ll be able to wake up on your own, right, Sport?”

Footsteps approach the room, and librarian extraordinaire Maryanne Sherbrook stands at the entrance. She leans against the doorway and crosses her arms across her chest. “Don’t you ladies worry,” Maryanne says. “I can take over from here.”

Clint flops his head back against the pillow. He _so_ has a type.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.


End file.
